“No. But if there is, I’m going to find it. I have no intention of spending my life resisting the urge to eat everybody I meet.”

“And I don’t want to have to take you for walks.”

“Fuck off.”

Back at Sam’s place, a miracle occurred. The Red Sea parted, one loaf of bread became a thousand, the sky rained frogs, and in the year 2003, the United States Postal Service actually managed to deliver a package.

Mo’Lock and I had been back for less then an hour. I’d shifted back to human form and showered. All my original wounds were healed, now replaced by injuries made by little monkey-vamp bites. I couldn’t catch a break. I was doomed to be covered with stinging, painful wounds for the rest of my life.

Mo’Lock and I came as close as we ever do to arguing about the whole floodgate thing he and Emek had been going on about. I had my ideas and they were nowhere near as sinister as his. While the ghouls thought there was some kind of monster apocalypse coming, I thought there was a single cause for all of this. I didn’t want to say anything until I was sure, though.

That’s what triggered the fight.

Mo’Lock hated that I didn’t share my every thought with him. Fuck him. This wasn’t Oprah. This was my fucking life. I’d talk when I wanted to talk.

Finally, he got pissed off and stormed to the door. He almost tripped over the large, battered box on the step. Mo’Lock forgot he was mad and picked up the parcel.

There was no movement or sound coming from the battered carton. I feared the worst and immediately tore at the tape.

The top layer was all crumpled paper and little Styrofoam peanuts. I pulled the paper away, sending peanuts flying. For half a second I thought the box was empty.

“IT’S ABOUT TIME YOU FOUND ME, YOU STUPID MOTHERFUCKER!” blared from the box, accompanied by the foul stench of an unbrushed mouthful of nasty old teeth.

The ghoul and I had to back away. It was that bad. I tried to get Mo’ to pull the screaming head out, but he pushed me forward. I held my breath and reached into the box. Inside I felt the hot, sweaty, semi-haired, completely scarred head of my old buddy Sam Burnett and lifted it to freedom. Half-melted packing peanuts peppered his face, and Styrofoam fragments were all over his mouth. He’d been eating the packing peanuts to survive. I would have laughed, but that was some fucked-up shit.

As I rested the head on the coffee table I shot the ghoul a look. “Mo’Lock. Listerine. Bathroom. Now!”

Sam was ranting, screaming, and throwing insults at a machine-gun pace as I made a comfortable resting place for him on the table. The words I could take, but the breath? Damn! Finally Mo’Lock came running back with the bottle of mouthwash. I grabbed it and poured it into Sam’s mouth. He resisted at first, but finally gargled.